


Ryn Joins the Guild

by efmrider



Series: Tales From The Rim [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 03:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efmrider/pseuds/efmrider
Summary: The title says it all, folks.The next few works in this series will be shorts, a series of character building and background provision for the next Volume in Of Kings & Thieves, which I have yet to think of a name for.  Updating will be relatively slow, as I am still working on Mercer's Addiction.  Then there is also, alas, Real Life, which insists upon interfering with my far more interesting virtual life.As always, thank you for your support, your comments and your loyalty.  Without you, these stories would die in the womb.
Series: Tales From The Rim [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610410
Kudos: 5





	Ryn Joins the Guild

Delvin made the final entry in his business ledger with satisfaction, his small neat script lining up perfectly with the entries above. He smiled, sighing in pleasure, then blew carefully across the page to dry the ink. It was good to have the books balance again. They had done so for the past six months since Reppa’s departure, but not a day went by that he didn’t think of her and thank her mentally for their return to solvency. It was more than solvency, actually. The vault was once again full and the clamor in the Flagon was deafening sometimes with the number of people—thieves, merchants and all manner of shady persons seeking their services and plying their various trades. Business had never been better.

The crowd was thinning now and he had seen the last of the thieves fencing their stolen items. Vekel was closing down and it was time to seek his bed. He carefully closed the ledger, wiped the tip of his quill and replaced the cork in the inkwell. As he gathered the tools of his trade, the sound of a scuffle over on the boardwalk where Dirge stood guard over his domain attracted his attention.

“Let me go! Please! I only want to talk to someone!”

He turned his head back to gather up his things, uninterested, and then his head snapped back to the woman who had spoken. For a moment, his eyes saw Reppa. Dirge had taken her by the nape of her neck and was pushing her ahead of him toward the door.

“We’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”

“No! Please, it’ll only take a moment!” The woman struggled, trying to wiggle free from the huge Nord’s grip.

Delvin hurried forward to follow them. “’Ere then, Dirge! Wot’s this?”

Dirge stopped and turned, dragging the woman around so he could see her. Then he realized his error. The woman he held was blond, yes—but there the resemblance ended. Her face was more finely chiseled and her jaw narrower. Where Reppa had been big-boned and sturdy, this one was slight and delicate, with more pronounced curves. She was almost a head shorter as well. He stopped, looking her over.

“Now then, wot’s a pretty lass like you doin’ down ‘ere? It’s not safe for the likes of you. Best go ‘ome to yer famly.”

“Please, are you with the guild? I want to join,” she responded, pleading.

Dirge’s scowl got even darker and Delvin chuckled. “Lassie, you’re too young and too pretty to be down ‘ere—much less be askin’ to be let into the Guild.”

“I’ve twenty eight winters,” she said coldly, glaring up at him. “I may look young, but I’m not. I’m the best picklock you could find in all the Rift, too. Just give me a chance. My pa just died and my ma’s living in a tavern, drinking herself to death. I worked with my pa and the business had to be sold to pay our back taxes and give him his rites. Now I’ve got a sister and brother to feed. I can’t make nothing as a servant and I’m not going to stoop to whoring.” Her glare softened and the pleading tone returned.

“The Guild is my only chance. Please, don’t turn me away.”

Delvin frowned, wishing he’d not interfered. There were women in the Guild, but they were all tough as nails, well able to defend themselves against the rough lot of men that made up the majority of the organization’s membership. They weren’t really recruiting as heavily now, though they never turned down a likely candidate if their skills were good enough. But this one—she was trouble. She’d have the men slobbering over her, fighting over who was going to bed her and maybe come to some harm herself.

“What’s going on here, Delvin?” Brynjolf’s smooth tone sounded behind him.

Delvin turned, surprised to see him out in the Flagon this late. Usually he was in bed at this hour—or buried in one of his books. Brynjolf looked at the woman and for a moment he saw pain in the Guildmaster’s eyes. His frown deepened. He knew the man was thinking of Reppa.

“This ‘ere little beauty wants to join up. Says she’s the best picklock in the Rift.”

Brynjolf recovered, then chuckled. “Is that so? Well, let’s put that to the test.”

Delvin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Brynjolf leaned forward and spoke in his ear. “It shouldn’t take but a few minutes to prove her wrong and send her on her way. That’s better than just giving her the boot. She’ll go back to wherever she came from with her tail tucked between her legs and not bother us anymore.”

“Right,” said Delvin, smiling. That was a much better solution. Then he frowned again. “You goin’ tae take her back and let ‘er see everythin’?

“Of course not.” Brynjolf turned to Vekel, who’d come to watch the show. He pulled the man’s towel from his belt and motioned to the woman.

“Come here lass. We’re gonna take you back so you can prove to us how good you are picking locks. But we can’t let you see our entire operation until and unless we let you into our organization. So you’re going to wear this blindfold.”

The woman hesitated, as if she were suddenly realizing how dangerous the situation she had placed herself in truly was. These men could do anything with her—or to her—and she would be powerless to stop them.

“Well? Do you want to do this or not?” asked Brynjolf impatiently. “You won’t get another chance.”

Steeling herself, she stepped forward and then turned around for him to place the cloth over her eyes. She had no other choice. She was desperate.

He guided her gently, warning her when there was a step down or a step up. He seemed unduly kind for a criminal. She wondered where he ranked in the hierarchy—or if there even was a hierarchy. Surely someone had to be in charge. The first man seemed deferential to him, so maybe he was the leader. If so, she needed to really impress him. She prayed she could conquer any challenge he threw at her.

She heard a door open, then some sort of scraping noise as if wood were being dragged across the floor, then she could tell they were stepping into a tunnel or hallway, as the sound became anechoic. There was a turn, a few steps and then they passed through another door into an echoing chamber, filled with the sound of cascading water and…snoring. It took a moment to identify the sound. Snoring? She was burning with curiosity, wanting to rip off the blindfold and look. She resisted the urge. He guided her in a half circle, then into another tunnel, around a couple more turns and then stopped, pulling the blindfold loose.

They stood in a large room. One half held target dummies and archery targets. The other half held…she had never seen so many chests. She counted quickly. There were twenty five of them, all with locks. Her experienced eyes told her many of them were expensive makes. She gulped.

“Here you go,” said the one who had guided her. He held out a handful of lockpicks. She took them, then he walked over to a side table and picked up an hourglass. He looked back at her.

“You’ve got one half turn of the sands to open every chest in this room.” He turned the glass upside down and the sands began to drain.

She didn’t hesitate for a second. She ran to the nearest chest and went to work, lowering her head close to the lock and closing her eyes to listen for the wards to click. Within seconds the first lock was open. She moved quickly to the next chest.

Brynjolf watched as she opened each one, his astonishment growing. The first three, he knew, were expert locks. The next was a novice lock and it opened almost as soon as she inserted the pick. Then came a master lock. It popped open as if she’d used a key. She moved on, picking each one in seconds. As she neared the end, he saw her pause to wipe the sweat from her eyes and rub her hands on her breeches. Then she got back to it. The next to last one gave her the most trouble and he saw her hands beginning to tremble. He glanced at the sands. They were almost halfway down. He found himself rooting for her, urging her silently on, even though he, like Delvin, knew she would be a disruption to the Guild. She was too pretty—too innocent.

The last lock came open just a few seconds before the halfway mark. She sat back and took a deep breath, then looked at him. He stared at her, his mouth open in shock.

“Do I pass?” she asked.

“Lass, where did you learn that?” he asked. “Who taught you?”

“My pa. He was a locksmith in Ivarstead. He made some of these locks. I made that one,” she said, pointing to the one that had given her the most trouble.

Brynjolf stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Delvin, we’ve been swindled. She’s a ringer.”

The woman stood, her face reflecting her worry. “I’m not a ringer! I told you I was the best. Who else would be the best except a woman who makes locks? I know locks like I know the back of my hand!”

“Don’t worry about it, lass. Of course you pass. You’re in. I warn you though, this isn’t an easy life. You’ll work hard and you’ll follow the rules, or you’ll be out on your arse. Is that understood?”

Her face lit up with joy. “I understand. You won’t be sorry, milord. I will work hard.”

“Milord?” Brynjolf laughed again. “We’re not so formal here. “I’m Guildmaster Brynjolf, but just Brynjolf will do. This is Delvin. He’s one of our fences. What is your name?”

“Ryn. My name is Ryn. Thank you Brynjolf. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Brynjolf smiled at her, but inside he worried. He’d have to teach her how to fight. She would need to learn, if she were going to stay alive in the Guild. He couldn’t watch her every second.


End file.
